Chapter 16
Cassie
A flash goes off. And then another.
“Shit,” I whisper, hunching down.
Nick holds his hand up to cover his face from the looming cameras before grabbing my elbow, and leading me across the lavish hotel’s front foyer.
“Fucking ghouls,” he grumbles.
Paparazzi and loud voices follow us, people struggling to get closer in the push and shove. More flashes go off, and security surges forward.
“Here, this way.”
Tacking on a false smile that belies my confidence, I follow Nick through a set of ornate doors to the right of the foyer, while trying desperately not to wobble on my high heels. Stilettos might look incredible but shoes this high were surely not meant for women with legs as short as mine. It must have something to do with a lower center of gravity or something, but I feel like I’m teetering all over the place.
Nick glides us through the ballroom, and oh my goodness, I can’t believe my eyes. I’m completely star-struck by the fact that the entire room is filled with ridiculously beautiful people with gorgeous smiles and cheekbones so high you’d need a ladder to jump over them.
It looks like something out of a movie. Everything is so fancy in the extravagant room. Tall vases filled with fresh flowers line the entrance, and black drapery hangs from the edges of the room to meet in the middle where a sparkling chandelier spins in circles.
The music industry, wow, it really is a pack apart from the rest of the world.
Business suits have been replaced by expensive tuxedos, and I’ve never seen so many platinum-blonde women wearing slinky dresses that barely hit their thighs in all my life. They’re all slender and tall and stunning, and as we move through the crowd, I notice even more gorgeous people milling about drinking and chatting. The hotshots of the recording industry, no doubt.
Nick steers me through a crowd of people who are blatantly staring at us. Some are whispering, some are pointing, and some are even gossiping behind their hands. I don’t know if it’s because Nick is more popular than I realize, or if it’s the fact he doesn’t traditionally bring dates to these kinds of things. I’m guessing it’s the latter.
Nick spots an empty high-top table by the bar and tugs on my elbow. “Come on, this way.”
A waiter arrives a few seconds later, and he offers us a glass of champagne from a silver tray. I take one gratefully, pleased to have something to do with my hands. Nick declines, and instead orders himself a glass of scotch. Single-malt. Straight up.
Nice.
The waiter nods, and then Nick turns around, leaning his lower back on the table while he scours the room, his fingers linked together resting on his stomach.
“See that guy over there,” he says quietly.
I glance in the general direction Nick’s looking. A small section of the ballroom has been sectioned off by large ferns and decorated with black velvet couches. A group of important-looking men sporting trendy haircuts and overly-styled facial hair are seated together on the couches, deep in conversation.
“That’s Harrison Biggs, the head of development from the London office.” Nick nods toward the group. “And the guy sitting beside him, that’s Trenton McGuire. He’s a senior manager in public relations. Both of them are pompous pencil-dicks if you ask my opinion. But keep that to yourself, yeah?”
I slowly nod, staring across at them. I can totally see why Nick would think that about these guys. Just the way they’re holding their drinks and the way they’re laughing at each other’s jokes. Lame jokes, no doubt.
When did it become cool not to wear socks with dress shoes?
Rich people. Don’t even get me started.
“Who’s the other guy?” I ask, craning my neck to get a better look at him. He’s sitting back on the couch, but his face is vaguely familiar. “Where do I know him from?”
Nick’s drink is ready. He thanks the waiter and hands him a tip before taking a sip of his scotch. The smirk on his face widens considerably when he sees who I’m looking at. “The Grammys circa 2018 ring any bells?”
Narrowing my eyes, I focus on the side of the man’s face, coming up blank until he turns a little more my way. He sits forward, his legs spread wide. And then it hits me.
Holy hell does it hit me.
“Oh my god!” I whisper-shriek, shrinking into Nick’s side. “That’s the guy who tried to climb on stage with Katy Perry while she was presenting an award. It was all over the news and the gossip websites.”
Nick raises his glass. “You got it in one.”
“But he got crash-tackled by security before he reached her.”
“Didn’t even make it to the third stair,” Nick’s shoulders shake with laughter. “Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce Mr. Silas York, CEO of Empress Records.”
My mouth falls open. “He’s the CEO ?”
“Terrifying, isn’t it?”
“Why didn’t he lose his job?”
Nick takes another mouthful of scotch. “If I were a betting man, I’d say it was because he knows too much. A little knowledge in this industry is a dangerous thing. It can make you or break you, kid. Silas York, nah, he isn’t going anywhere.”
A spotlight suddenly comes on at the front of the room, and I’m momentarily blinded by the intensity of the light.
There’s movement up on the stage, a blur of black and something metallic, and then the master of ceremonies for the evening clears his throat from behind a podium.
“Welcome, everyone, to tonight’s event. If I could have everyone please take their seats? We’re about to start the entertainment for the evening, and then dinner will be served. Enjoy!”
At the announcement, Nick leads me to our table a few rows over, holding the chair out for me. There’s a titter of laughter and movement and the clinking of glasses around the room as everyone does the same, and once everyone is seated, the stage goes completely black.
Smoke swirls around, drifting over the edge, and the entire time the haunting, echoing sound of fingernails scraping down dry glass awakens the expectations of the entire room.
The energy is suddenly so electric I can practically feel it zipping through my body.
“What’s going on?” I ask, leaning into Nick’s side.
A couple of women start clapping behind us, whistling loudly. A tall guy up front throws both hands up in the air. A few people seated at the tables to our left yell ‘woohoo’ and ‘hell yeah!’
Nick grins. “You’ll see.”
I open my mouth to speak, but then slam it shut again when bright white lights suddenly shine down on each band member from above their heads.
Reed, Quinn, Jaxon, and Kael.
I stop dead in my tracks.
Wait. What?
My mouth falls open, and I spin around so fast it makes me dizzy. “You said this was a corporate dinner for Empress Records.”
Nick glances at me briefly. “What?”
“You didn’t say the band would be here. ”
He doesn’t take his eyes off the stage. “Cold Neptune is the biggest act signed to Empress Records. Why the fuck wouldn’t they be here?”
I instantly feel sick. Shit. Of course Nick’s right. Why wouldn’t they be here? I just wish the thought had occurred to me sooner.
The entire room suddenly erupts into applause, Nick included, when Jaxon throws his sticks high up into the air before catching them again right as he belts out a quick drum solo. The weighty notes of a bass guitar crash through the speakers, literally rattling my bones, and then Reed steps forward and grabs the microphone with one hand. He starts singing, and almost immediately, the floor around the front of the stage is crowded with people.
Reed Devlin is seriously the poster child for rock stars the world over, and with the intensity of his performance and the way his hypnotizing voice basically makes love to the lyrics, he’s most likely the reason the band is so successful and bankable.
Kael is playing his bass guitar shirtless for some inexplicable reason, but goodness me, I don’t miss the appeal. He’s got such a commanding aura about him. The muscles in his arms and his stomach are just plain ridiculous.
I reluctantly let my eyes wander to the side of the stage where Quinn is standing, and as hard as I try, nothing prepares me for the sight of him. I wonder if “smoking hot” is a requirement to be part of the band, because if it is Quinn passes with flying colors.
They’re all good-looking guys in their own unique ways, but the truth of the matter is this…none of them stands out to me the way Quinn stands out to me. There’s ju st something about the way he holds himself, the way he moves so fluidly, the way he’s focused so intently on the music, the way he smiles with his eyes as if he’s not really smiling at all. But I know he’s smiling, because I know him.
My heart leaps, the traitorous thing that it is.
I want to bury my feelings for him. I really, truly do. But that small feat is proving to be a little more difficult the longer I stare up at the stage.
How is it legal for one man to be so attractive?
Quinn’s fingers dance over the strings like he’s not even thinking about the notes he’s playing or the sounds he’s making. His left hand slides up and down the neck of the guitar while he taps his foot to the heavy beat. He moves to stand beside Reed at the front of the stage just as the chorus begins, and hell yes , the look they give one another is enough to set a girl’s panties on fire.
Mine. My panties .
Oh god.
That I want him so bad doesn’t help with my flailing emotions. I’m still mad at him. Aren’t I? Yes. I definitely am. I’m very angry. I think? It’s good to want things in life, to strive for the unattainable, but that doesn’t necessarily mean you’re going to get them.
The song eventually changes, a slower tempo this time, a rock ballad, and Reed’s voice shifts into something darker and moodier. The music swells and picks up intensity, and Kael sashays across the stage to stand beside Quinn. He winks at him, something unspoken exchanged between them, and then they stand back-to-back with their hips moving slowly side to side, in complete synchrony. Both men grin mischievously when they get the reaction they were obviously expecting from the women up front.
There’s no doubt about it, these guys are incredible. They’re really good at what they do. Every look, every move they make, is choreographed to perfection, and each member of the band knows exactly where they’re supposed to be, and what they’re supposed to be doing at any given moment.
When the last song of the set finishes, Reed holds his hand up in the air to break through the noise of the cheering crowd. He yanks the mic from the stand to walk closer to the front of the stage. “Thank you, everyone, for coming out tonight. I hope you enjoyed the music. That last track releases in a few weeks, so be sure to keep your Spotify accounts up to date.” He laughs. “For the out-of-towners here tonight, welcome to fucking New York!”
Then, all four band members suddenly slam their feet together and bow their heads.
And the lights go out.